


struggling man

by gael_itarille



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (both are mild), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Check author's note for warnings/triggers!, Episode: s04e15 Us, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Inspired by..., Knives, Major Character Injury, Mention of Carl Grimes - Freeform, Mild Blood, Multi, POV Second Person, Please read author's note for trigger warnings!, Reader-Insert, Violence Against Walkers (Walking Dead), Walkers (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gael_itarille/pseuds/gael_itarille
Summary: daryl doesn't want to leave you behind.(he has to.)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & You, Daryl Dixon/You, Rick Grimes & You
Kudos: 26





	struggling man

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS (PLEASE NOTE): this fic does contain violence against walkers (shooting them and stabbing them specifically + canon typical violence), as well as mentions of injury & mild blood, being trapped by the ankle in concrete debris and implied/referenced major character death. it also mentions knives and guns. *this fic contains similar action/scenes/possible triggers to what would be seen in TWD on television.* please be aware of this before you read!
> 
> my first twd fic! i've been writing for a lot of fandoms for the first time recently- and TWD has become one of my most-watched shows. (though i just finished season 5, so please don't leave any spoilers in the comments!)
> 
> Enjoy! xx

"Go, NOW!" you yell, pushing your last clip into your pistol with the heel of your hand. 

Panic rises in your throat, and you futilely attempt to tug your leg out from under the slab of concrete. It only compresses it harder, and you cry out- the jagged edges scraping your ankle.

Another shove- you shift your weight to your left, hoping to slip your ankle through the gaps in the debris. Your muscles strain as you use a surrounding pile of broken cement as leverage, and your ribs seem to strangle your lungs as your energy -and blood- seeps out of you.

Panting, you raise your gun- scanning and nailing the walker nearest to you with a bullet to its skull. The corpse drops to the floor with a _thud_. 

A dozen more like it file in after the noise. You curse. 

You watch as Rick helps Carl up; the group already increasing pace. Rick meets your eyes again, already turning towards you- but you shake your head.

Damn. Your eyes burn.

Frantically, you point at your ankle and shake your head again- grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh and gesturing towards the exit.

 _Daryl_ , you mouth, and your leader nods, blue eyes solemn and resolute- a promise. 

The man in question -feelings, _hell_ , tearing at your chest like acid- spots you right then and there, slinging his crossbow under his arm and bolting at you.

"You ain't dying," he says, already crouching down to try and lift the concrete pinning you down. He grunts, struggling, and his expression tells you what you already know.

"Daryl," you start- your heart torn between slowing its pace in inevitable acceptance or racing like thunder. 

He doesn't want to leave you here.

Daryl tries again, louder this time, gritting his teeth. 

"Daryl!" You insist, shoving him aside and shooting an approaching walker. Behind you, the hoard grows.

He has to. 

"They're rounding the corner," you tug his hand, bringing him up to you, "you gotta go."

You press your forehead to his, hating how breathy your voice sounds. He's coated in a sheen of sweat and dirt, ever the Dixon that you know- and you cling to the edge of his leather vest till your nails dig into your palms. 

"Listen to me, okay? None of this is your fault," you gulp, trying to budge your ankle one last time. 

"None of this will _ever_ be your fault." Pulling away, you press your knife into his hands, curling his fingers around it. 

"You're gonna go with the group, and you're gonna stay with them- okay? 'Cause they love you, and I love you, and-"

Crap. You've never said that before.

You slam the lid on your shock, making eye contact with Daryl. His lips are slightly parted- like he wants to reply and can't dig out the words.

Once more, you shake your head.

"You're going to be okay," you reassure. Tears overflow from the back of your eyes, stinging on their way down- a reminder, in this cruel instant before your death, that you're _alive_.

You cup his cheek with a trembling hand. 

"You have such pretty eyes."

You've never told a truer truth. You take one last look- the light blue of his irises; mountain streams rushing over cool grey stone- and smile. 

This could've been your forever. 

With all your strength, you shove him away from you. 

"Go!"

That is your last direction; your last shout.

Daryl runs down the tunnel; arm coming up to wipe at his face.

You allow yourself a single sob. The tunnel is dusty, dark, grimy-

-and _dead_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not leave spoilers past season 5's finale in the comments- & thank you for reading!
> 
> *title inspired by "Struggling Man" as sung by Emily Kinney.


End file.
